


Nutmeg and Cinnamon

by thtzwhatuthink



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Affection, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst-Free, Coffee, First Kiss, Fluff and Humor, Friends to Lovers, Genji is affectionately described as a weeb by friends, Holding Hands, Linguistics Graduate and Local Sexy Barista Jesse, M/M, Math Major Hanzo, Slow Burn, Someone has a cold, Strangers to Lovers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-26
Updated: 2017-12-31
Packaged: 2019-02-06 23:07:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 15,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12828072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thtzwhatuthink/pseuds/thtzwhatuthink
Summary: Hanzo made it all the way until senior year to realize there was a coffee shop hidden between the art buildings; wonderfully sparse of other humans, with the tables deliciously wide and crumb-free. A beautiful atmosphere with great character in its employees, who are ever so unhelpful as he tries to determine the identity of a secret admirer keeps that keeps sending him coffee.





	1. Friendly

**Author's Note:**

> Your classic coffee shop AU, which has bean roasting (heh) for a couple of months now and tonight is the night I want to do something with it.

Hanzo made it all the way until senior year to realize there was a coffee shop hidden between the art buildings.

Within seconds of stepping inside, he sorely regrets his ignorance in not finding the soothing coffee shop vibes sooner. Although, he does ask the barista with glasses and pinned hair how long the shop has been on campus. Her bubbly voice kindly informs only since the start of his junior year.

The location that hid so skillfully from Hanzo also seemed to hide well from the rest of the campus. Only artsy students who likely lived in this café and a few wayfaring professors seemed to stop in. Starkly different from the popular Overbucks corporate coffee he passed every day, which probably served a hundred students an hour. Rarely could he ever find a seat let alone a table to lay his textbooks on.

The place is wonderfully sparse of other humans, and the tables deliciously wide and crumb-free.

The atmosphere is dim, but windows along the front brought in filtered light from the tree in front of the shop. The lighting above each booth table is perfect for studying.

This little coffee shop is a wet dream for his grade in Advanced Calculus II class.

When Hanzo receives his order of a Black Eye hot, another barista slides it across the counter to him within a minute of ordering. Fast service, Hanzo lifts his steaming cup and nods his head in thanks; eyes focused on the empty booth near the window that’s somewhat secluded.

He could spread out his laptop, textbook, and notes with half the table leftover. Hanzo considers himself an embarrassment for being near ecstatic about free table space. At least it’s not showing on his face.

That first sip of coffee he takes has him pulling back, staring at the cup with eyebrows raised in astonishment.

It’s the best cup of coffee he’s ever had.

The flavor is bold and unique, yet so smooth it lacks an unpleasant bitter aftertaste. If Hanzo wasn’t so caffeine addicted already, he would have considered this to be a Dead Eye with three shots of espresso rather than one.

His line of sight flies from the bubbly handwriting of “Hanzo” on the cardboard cup over to the barista who made his drink. Hanzo realizes not once did he look up at the man to realize he was wearing a cowboy hat. Before Hanzo notices the cinnamon brown hair, native tan, and the charming way his eyes crinkle when he grins, Hanzo hears the man switch effortlessly between Spanish, Chinese, and English amongst his other two coworkers.

From what little Chinese Hanzo knew, it sounded like the cashier managed orders in Chinese. The Spanish sounded like playful bickering between him and the other coworker with purple hair, restocking the coffee blends.

A polyglot barista, who makes a damn good cup of coffee. How odd.

Hanzo stares long enough for the strange man to notice him, and their eyes meet just long enough for Hanzo to find himself pretending to write the Pythagorean theorem to look like he was doing something, just lost in thought.

The coffee shop atmosphere with smooth jazz playing overhead consumes him, and he doesn’t look up from his notes or practice problems for another hour and a half. The fastest time he’s ever finished a block of studying, he’s even impressed with himself at his productivity.

He buys a small brownie on the way out as a reward for his efforts. The one with the name tag “Mei” reaches into the display case to grab one, before someone in the back calls out, “Give him one o’ these fresh ones! Those have been out too long.” Hints of a southern accent bring Hanzo’s mind back to the barista who wears a cowboy hat.

He’s not given a second more to dwell on the man though, as Mei plops a warm brown paper bag in his hand.

“Oh wow, they even bake everything on site.” Hanzo thinks. That’s a rarity for corporate coffee shops. He verbally thanks them this time, smile present on his lips.

He’s found his new daily study spot.

* * *

 

Hanzo over the next several weeks of first semester learns that if he orders coffee in-house, and then sits down at a table, someone will bring the coffee to his table. They also seem to give whip cream free of charge on the in-house mugs, which is always a plus. By now, all three-different people who work the afternoon weekday shifts have learned Hanzo’s name and order. Their greetings are always warming to Hanzo almost as much as their coffee. He finds himself smiling before he even walks up to the cash register, and on most days, the interaction is the highlight of his day.

Hanzo also figured out that the cowboy-hat donning polyglot barista seems to have a magical touch with the espresso machine.

If he’s on drink duty, the coffee is always the best. Said man also seems to be the manager, or a manager to some degree. He holds an air of authority over pesky customers, and the others seem to direct problems to him. He also tends to ensure that for when the times Hanzo does leave the place with a brownie or cookie, the item is hot and fresh.

Hanzo’s out-of-class note-taking times have been slashed by nearly two thirds because of how well he focuses in-shop.

However, that focus is interrupted when one day before a quarterly exam, the purple haired barista with the nametag “Sombra” comes over to his table and silently drops off another cup of his favorite order. Hanzo looks up from his notes but doesn’t stop leaning over his textbook, eyebrows furrowing in confusion because he did not order another cup of coffee. Admittedly, he was about to buy another because he planned to stay for an extra two hours to study, however Hanzo is a lawful soul.

“Wait,” He calls out to catch Sombra’s attention, “I didn’t order this. It must be for someone else.”

She smirks, then chuckles, before replying, “Oh I know. Someone else ordered it for _you_.”

Hanzo’s expression contorts to express further confusion. _Why would someone do that?_ He goes to voice this question before he realizes the purple haired employee seems to have vanished. Beyond bewilderment with the situation, Hanzo feels undeserving of the free coffee. His eyes zone out to watch the steam arise from the top of the mug. The whip cream melting fast, Hanzo makes one more valiant effort to look for Sombra and return the coffee.

“She must be in the back.” Han zo thinks, somewhat begrudgingly accepting the coffee by pulling it closer to his notes. Midway through solving an equation, his mind gauges it must be cool enough to sip. The feeling that warms him is beyond just temperature.

 _No_ , someone added cinnamon and nutmeg to his usual coffee. The spices travel as a wave of heat down his throat. It makes him pause, and he stares long and hard at the cup despite knowing exactly what extra was added.

It’s tasty. _Really tasty_. Why hasn’t he thought of putting spices in his drink orders?

Hanzo glances around the coffee shop, noting no familiar face apart from the baristas. He’d like to ponder who purchased the mystery coffee, however he has three chapters ahead of him in review before tomorrow’s exam. If he ever finds out who ordered it, he will find a way to thank them and return the favor.

He really needed the pick-me-up, the random act of kindness came at the perfect time.

Next time he’s in the coffee shop, the barista with the cowboy hat mans both the register and the machines while Mei is on break. It’s not a difficult task during the slow hour, and Hanzo is close enough to read “Jesse” written in a chalk marker on his nametag.

Despite today being the first time Hanzo has seen Jesse at the register, he’s greeted warmly all the same and questions “The usual red eye with breve?” His accent thick as molasses, and something in the back of Hanzo’s mind tells him that the strong accent is deliberate.

The social cue of someone waiting on an answer draws Hanzo out of his stupor. He smiles, sheepishly requesting, “I would like to add cinnamon and nutmeg to my normal order—please.”

The polite smile behind the register morphs into a grin that lights up Jesse’s whole face. Enthusiasm is a trait that Jesse wears with enchanting charisma. Hanzo struggles to maintain polite eye contact with a smile that dazzling.

“ _Ooooh_ , changing it up I see? I’ll have that ready for ya’ in just a few.”

Hanzo pays, and is hasty to begin homework to get his mind off his latest awkward social interaction with an attractive person. He prides himself for his ability to squash the feeling of embarrassment, steeling his expression when the coffee is dropped off with a hearty chuckle of “Oh, so that’s what you’re always working on. I see you’re a math nerd, eh?”

“I can bet money you have a linguistics background, having casual conversation in three different languages while working.”

Jesse’s walking backwards towards the register now, but his eyes are still focused on Hanzo. His eyebrows raised in surprise at Hanzo’s last statement, as if he did not expect Hanzo to have noticed. That expression of surprise shifts to a knowing look, before the polyglot barista just _winks_ with a smile.

Hanzo finds himself smiling at the man’s antics, especially when his cool demeanor cracks, as he backs up too far into a display basket and knocks it over. Hanzo chuckles warmly, leaving the man with some dignity by looking away, down at the homework as the other man cleans up the mess he’s made. The smile on Hanzo’s face persists when he notices Jesse is a little red. In combination with the delicious flavors swirling in his cup, Hanzo finds himself in a pleasant mood.

This shop had a beautiful atmosphere, and great character in its employees. These factors never failed to uplift Hanzo.

Despite the pleasant start to the homework session, he comes across a concept in the problem set that does not click. He’s stumped, left at the mercy of YouTube professors and example problems. Briefly, a memory crosses his mind of his brother telling him that his forehead wrinkles like an old man when he’s confused. He intentionally relaxes his face muscles just as another cup of unordered coffee is set down gingerly by Mei onto his table.

Instead of assuming the cup was a misplaced order, he considers the last time someone ordered a second coffee for him. Hanzo ends up biting his lip; the question on the tip of his tongue, but the amused smile on Mei’s face as she knowingly watches his mental conflict says it all.

She walks away after he quietly requests for her to thank whoever sent him one. Just for confirmation, Hanzo rotates the cup to see his name written on the side in a wispy handwriting he’s unfamiliar with.

This cup has nutmeg and cinnamon in it too. There’s an increasing probability that this was the same person who gifted him a coffee last week, although his dataset is much too small with only two occurrences to make any well-supported conclusions.

By the end of the homework, Hanzo’s a little jittery from the extra caffeine, but satisfied with how he went about solving the difficult problems. Before he heads out for the night, he crams a tip equivalent to the cost of a red eye into the tip jar on the way out.

Three days pass before Hanzo comes into the coffee shop in the afternoon again. He’s made it a daily habit to grab a cup at the asscrack of dawn, always greeted brightly by Tracer on the morning cashier shift. Less frequently does he come in the afternoon to knock out big chunks of work, after class.

Today though, Hanzo’s class was canceled. Thus, prior to coming into shop he decided to get in an extra round of practice at the shooting range and at least one run of parkour on the obstacle course next door. Of course, in a modern college setting, traditional archery robes are awkward to carry around just for a one-hour session, so he resorts to simply taking his shirt off and leaving the sweatpants. With the shooting range outdoors, although he had shade while aiming, he walked into the coffee shop sweatier than he would have liked.

Glistening in sweat, with his bow and quiver strapped over his shoulder to his bare back; Hanzo’s eager to order an iced version of his usual drink.

Jesse reaches over to grab his cup and begin the order, and whistles when he looks up at Hanzo moving off to the side. The sound has Hanzo looking up, only to see Jesse giving him a once-over before staring at behind him.

“Mathematician is also an archer? Never imagined shootin’ arrows would make you that sweaty.”

“I also practice—” Hanzo’s sentence falls short. He briefly has this quizzical expression before cursing, “ _Fuck,_ I do not know the word for it in English.” Hanzo glares at the counter for a moment, trying his hardest to summon the right word before giving up, native accent slipping into the conversation, “I call it パルクール.”

Jesse, unsurprisingly yet somewhat impressively, understands that too. He chuckles at Hanzo’s accent slipping into his English, and Hanzo finds the laugh offensive. Jesse doesn’t seem to notice the way his shoulders square up.

“ _Oh_ , parkour. I have a weeaboo friend that does that as a sport.” Jesse knowing what a weeaboo is makes him drop his defense, more out of surprise than anything else. An iced coffee is slid in front of Hanzo on the counter. He sips from the orange straw as an idle action, when Jesse casually tacks on, “Genji is also the same fuck who taught me Japanese.”

That got Hanzo to freeze. Mouth hanging ajar with the straw still between his lips, as several realizations about the coffee shop cowboy smacks Hanzo. One, he knows Japanese. Two, he must know his brother because Hanzo has searched in the student directory and only one Genji is enrolled on campus. Three, Hanzo’s own otaku-exiled brother taught this man with a magical touch to coffee machines, their language.

Hanzo, with a poorly concealed dumbstruck look on his face questions in Japanese how fluent he became from this Genji person.

Jesse’s face is thoughtful for a moment, before he replies that he tries to obtain and then maintain fluency in the languages he knows. It’s something he’s passionate about. Jesse says all of this with a lower, smoother tone in a natural Kansai dialect not unlike Hanzo’s own. Of all the tones in the variety of languages Hanzo has heard him speak, by far his favorite is English, but his Japanese is a close second. Maybe Hanzo does have an interest in American Midwest appeal.

 Then Jesse furrows his brows together and comments,

“For some reason, your tongue is easier to understand than some of the foreign exchange students that pass through here.”

Hanzo simply shrugs his shoulders, not wanting to give away that he knows why. He continues to sip his drink as he heads to his table. Notes aside, he has some investigating to do with his brother, and for that he whips out his phone and sends a text asking Genji, “Do you know someone named Jesse who does not look Japanese but can speak our tongue?”

Two minutes pass by, and Hanzo’s level of productivity has yet to leave the ground. At least he removed the caps from his pens and highlighters. Alas, his screen flashes and the contact “Gengoo” has an incoming message:

“Cosplays as a cowboy 24.7, considers it casual/biz attire? Big dick sharpshooter? and has a natural knack to pick up anything he focuses on?”

“Some criteria seem met. Yes. Works at a coffee shop.”

“Yeah. That’s my roommate Jesse McCree, whadda ‘bout him?”

Hanzo’s level of shock within the past hour could have a read on a multimeter, if he attached himself to one. He types ‘nani’ in all caps, then promptly erases it and settles for something tamer.

“How long has he been your roommate? I don’t remember meeting him.”

“My oblivious, slightly hateful but beloved brother, he’s been my roommate since the start of college. My best friend since we moved overseas here.”

Immediately after that text his phone buzzes in his hand again.

“You avoided my group of friends like the plague in high school, and never cared enough about my life to ever visit my apartment thus far in college.”

Hanzo’s thumbs poised for a response fall flat against his phone case. What Genji says is true, and he knows it. A bout of guilt arises from his gut; his chest feels tight. He’s always been a shitty brother. His phone abruptly vibrates again.

“Why do you ask me this? Have you met him? IS HE AROUSING FOR THE HANZO SENSES?”

Hanzo takes a moment to reposition his coffee to directly under his chin, and to slouch so he could sip the coffee from the table without picking it up. When he settles to type a response, his thoughts fall short. Genji always made him feel an onslaught of varying emotions, usually all at once. He composes himself to the best of his ability.

“No comment.” Is all he musters. Talk about a well-developed reply. Genji could embarrass him without even being present.

“No comment my ass. I’ll leave you with one before I start my lab: He’s a natural charmer to everyone, but he only flubs to guys. Good luck, ani.”

Hanzo stares at Genji’s comment, and he’d be lying if he said his heartbeat didn’t elevate. He reads over the conversation a whooping three more times, just to fully grasp the exchange of information that just occurred in the span of ten minutes. Condensation has begun forming on the plastic cup of his drink. Hanzo finds himself relieved that his brother doesn’t seem to mind the possible attraction Hanzo harbors over Jesse. He gets the sense that in a way his brother may be encouraging the interest to form.

Hanzo does not know him well enough to declare a romantic attraction. Not yet. Hell, he had no idea Jesse was into shooting of some variety. That would explain why he wasn’t weirded out by the bow that leans against the wall next to him, rather he’s curious. Hanzo is a man who bears shame like the dragon tattoo he has as a sleeve, and thus is deliberate in glossing over the words, “big dick” but his eyes _do_ linger.

Just as he feels someone eye’s lingering on him.

He sneaks a glance over to the bar section where the baristas work. Lo and behold the cowboy himself was looking over in his direction. When Hanzo makes eye contact, he tries to acknowledge him, giving a curt nod.

Jesse doesn’t seem as capable, despite having a plethora of automatic customer responses. All Jesse does is look down, focusing carefully on the mundane task of holding the steam lever as he makes a latte.

The interaction was off-putting, and Hanzo makes his best effort to find the source. The thought of Hanzo watching Jesse make three drinks in a row while blindfolded as a bet he made with Sombra comes to mind. That was roughly two weeks ago.

Jesse didn’t need to watch what he was doing, not in the slightest. Hanzo knows this.

The pen that boxes off an answer on his graph paper skips ink over the last stretch of the box, Hanzo idly acknowledges to switch pens as he contemplates if Jesse was nervous that he was caught staring.

Two Lebesgue integral problems later and Hanzo’s internal conflict regarding Jesse’s interaction has arrived at the conclusion that Hanzo is overanalyzing the situation too much. He chides himself for being distracted for so long, and does his absolute best to zone on his work. Even mutes out the normally enjoyable coffee shop jazz to use his own classical music with earbuds.

The sound and surrounding disconnect works brilliantly in getting his work done with high efficiency.

It also drowns out whatever Jesse says to him as he sets down yet another unpaid cup of coffee on Hanzo’s Calc textbook. Jesse is fleeting, not even bothering to wait for a response from Hanzo before speed walking away.

Judging by the flustered look on his face, and the four other lattes balanced carefully on the tray, rush hour must have begun. Or maybe Jesse did not want to spill the lattes. Maybe they were late orders, or he’s worried they are getting cold.

Not that he was nervous in delivering a latte to Hanzo. _Oh, no_. Hanzo grips his pen and cleaves that thought before it fully forms. The next line he highlights he presses with more pressure than he would consider safe for keeping the marker tip sharp. Genji’s comment is shoved away in his mind faster than it appears.

Hanzo opts to shift his attention to the gifted drink. His usual redeye, now with cinnamon and nutmeg which is becoming a favorite. The shorthand for the drink instructions is in the same wispy handwriting from the other free drinks. When he rotates the cup to ensure his name is on it, there’s a bubbly-shaped heart in place of the ‘o’ at the end of his name. There’s also the message:

_smart, skilled, AND hot? Kill me with an --- > please_

The symbol he interprets as a poorly drawn arrow. The please at the end is underlined for emphasis, and it would make Hanzo chuckle at their crude humor if the epiphany that the person sending him drinks _may like him_ had him stunned.

He sets down the pen.

Secret admirers were fabled creatures. Well suited for the slice-of-life anime his brother always watched. Hanzo sets the cardboard cup on top of his unfinished math problem, and twirls the cup slowly another two times before swallowing the anxiety of the unknown bubbling up within his throat.

Letting the situation continue until it spiraled out of control and he either ended up with a stalker or someone with seriously hurt feelings, weighed heavy on his mind. So, with every ounce of social interaction and responsibility urges to do the right thing, Hanzo stands with cup in hand.

He strides with calculated steps over to Mei when the line in the front of the cash register is small. Respectfully, he lets the students behind him cut in front of him until there’s no one who would have to wait behind him as he initiates a conversation.

When he becomes the first and only person in line, does he step up and gingerly set the coffee on the wooden countertop.

“Mei. I get the sense that one particular person keeps giving me free coffee. Can you confirm that?”

She stifles a giggle and nods enthusiastically in agreement.

“I won’t inquire about the specifics if they’re too shy to approach me directly. However, I do not wish to lead anyone on,” This is the part he did not like sharing freely. “Next time they go to purchase another coffee for me, could you inform them that,” Hanzo’s hand reaches to rub the back of his neck. It’s supposed to be a gesture that soothes his nerves but all it does is contribute to his general aura of awkwardness. He’s stalling.

“I’m—uh, _gay_.”

Mei just blinks.

A fitting response for someone who wasn’t open about his sexuality with many people, yet here he is, telling a barista who _literally did not ask._  Maybe he was nuts. In the two seconds it takes for Mei to react, Hanzo sets a reminder in his head to arrange an appointment with the local mental hospital and put it on his google calendar. Also within the same timeframe of two seconds, Jesse manages to simultaneously slip and spill whatever order he was working on. There’s a loud thud behind the bar as Jesse slams himself into nearby cabinets to stop himself from falling completely onto the floor.

While the sudden onslaught of uncomfortable situations startles Hanzo, Mei remains completely unfazed.

Her response is nothing short of bright and bubbly, regardless of situation.

“Oh good, that will be encouraging!”

 _Encouraging_? Hanzo could connect the dots behind the statement, and he’s not quite sure what to feel. Thankfully, it’s now Jesse’s cue to curse loudly, and Hanzo can shove all thoughts aside to make sure he’s alright.

Jesse jumps up fast, yowling about the one day he forgets his apron is the one day he spills scalding hot coffee on himself, all the while hastily undoing the buttons to his red uniform button-down. Practically leaping out of his shirt, Jesse reveals himself to also be physically fit.

_Very physically fit._

With hair on his chest and broad shoulders to accent his inverted triangle body shape. Hanzo’s urges his brain to ignore the tasteful geometry that is Jesse McCree. Hanzo’s body was practically identical, except he was like the lithe flexible version rather than endurance. His arms Hanzo dotted on prior were now fully exposed rather than hidden under long sleeves.

Jesse had tattoos as well. They looked like something of a biker gang variety, highlighting both his biceps and a forearm. As Jesse and Mei examined the red inflamed skin of his stomach, Hanzo also follows their gaze to notice a few strange scars. Non-surgical looking, more like knife fights gone wrong.

Hanzo assumes this with moderate accuracy because he has them too, but he doesn’t hesitate to ask Jesse once he settles against the counter, with a bag of ice pressed to his stomach. Hanzo only gets a vague response of, “Let’s just call ’em… rookie mistakes.” Jesse’s unreadable expression serves as an iron poker face that nearly throws Hanzo out of his element when the question is redirected,

“And what about yourself? They were one of the first things I noticed on you today.”

A long drawn out pause of silence. Hanzo rolls his shoulders before replying carefully,

“Sparring mistakes.”

The look shared between them settles deep in Hanzo’s gut. Jesse had more substance to his personality than he lets on, perhaps dancing along the line of illegal activity background. Second chances are given in college—Hanzo’s on a second chance himself—yet never has he met someone who’s relatable with the same scars of dark past.

Hanzo’s drawing conclusions again, projecting his troubles onto an attractive and mysterious cowboy.

Yet Mei also seems to have received the same vibe, because she casually questions, “Jeez, am I the only one here unaffiliated with gang activity _or what_?”

Sombra snorts, and says as a matter of fact, _yes,_ she is the only one. Sombra’s eyes slide over to Hanzo; a knowing look on her face that hinted she knew of his background. Hanzo bites his lip, withholding a bitter threat on his tongue he would never hesitate to use in his younger days. Before Hanzo had to decide on how to appropriately respond in a civilized manner, Jesse does it for him.

“Hey now Sombra, whatever your comp-sci security breaching ass found on our favorite regular, keep that info as quiet as mine.”

Sombra’s thoughtful for a moment, before Jesse persists with a facial expression that makes her drop the subject and keep it dropped. Hanzo’s on edge now, the coffee his hand rests on comes to mind, and he begins to spin the cup around slowly as an idle action.

“Maybe you should take a break Jesse to let that burn calm down. Why don’t you sit with our,” cue the finger air quotations, “favorite regular,” Hanzo smirks at her antics, “and have a nice debriefing chat.”

“Maybe I will.” Jesse retorts defiantly, grabbing a cup of coffee hidden behind the register and walking out from the bar. Hanzo walks with him when Jesse waves him to come back to his table, however not before Sombra quips,

“You may be surprised, Jesse.”

Jesse does nothing more but glance over his shoulder, eyes narrowing in suspicion of what she may know. Hanzo’s pace speeds up to arrive at the booth first, sliding over his textbooks and notes to neat stacks. Jesse takes the liberty to scooch to the wall of the opposite booth-seat, and stretch his legs out along the whole cushion as he leans against the window.

Hanzo sits poised carefully in front of his notes, idly shifting around his stationary when Jesse abruptly apologizes.

“Sorry ‘bout Sombra. She’s the nosiest person I’ve ever met, ya’know. Digs for info on nearly everyone she meets.” McCree begins, running the brim of his hat between his pointer finger and thumb.

“So, I think it goes without question that you should know her stats. 19 years old, comp-sci prodigy, bionic body modifications and talon affiliation, although it’s unclear if she’s active or not within the organization. Honest to god, I think she’s neutral and always has been.”

Talon is a familiar name to Hanzo. The Shimada’s likely have associated with them in the past for illegal activity. Hanzo hums thoughtfully, sight shifting over to Sombra filling a coffee order. When his eyes linger on Mei next, Jesse answers his unspoken question.

“Mei is a sweet cinnamon roll who is going to champion global warming someday. She works here due to a federal work study, but when she moves on I have high hopes for the brilliant woman.”

Hanzo sips his cup of coffee as he looks over to Jesse, expectant of telling his own tale next. Jesse seems to understand, but remains silent with only a smirk in acknowledgment. Hanzo does his best to hold the eye contact, until Jesse falters first. He admits that he’s unsure if he wants to change how Hanzo thinks of him.

So Hanzo admits he was a yakuza. Nothing more, nothing less.

Jesse’s surprised expression is expected, yet unsettling. Hanzo desperately needs to occupy himself with something, and abruptly slides his textbook closer to look at the next problem set. Meanwhile, Jesse is silent. Although Hanzo is terrified to glance at the cowboy, he does it anyway—just to see the man staring at his dragon tattoo.

Jesse was no fool, but Hanzo was—for not considering this guy could make an inference to Genji’s green dragon tattoo of the exact same style and position. Hanzo rubs the inked arm, and bites his lip. Math forgotten as he watches everything click behind Jesses calculating expression.

“So that’s why you were shocked when I told you who taught me this language.” Jesse comments quietly in Japanese.

Hanzo can feel heat rising to his face. He prays that it doesn’t show in his complexion. He averts his eyes from Jesse when he agrees, because _wow_ , Genji really could make him embarrassed in any instance, even when he isn’t even remotely present in the conversation. Hanzo does nothing more than slouch in defeat of the situation; leaning over until his arms fold on the table and he hides the lower half of his face in his forearms.

Jesse would never dare tell Hanzo how adorable he looks when earnestly embarrassed: mouth hidden by inked muscle and glaring at his coffee cup nearby. Not yet at least.

He can’t help the chuckle though.

Hanzo perks up when he hears the soothing English tone of,

“I ain’t mad at ya. Genji always spoke of a fabled older brother, quite frankly most of us thought you were a myth.” Jesse readjusts the ice pack on his stomach, before huffing and taking it off completely. The condensation drips onto the table.

“But now, I see the resemblance.”

“Genji has always partied too much for my liking. The few friends I met matched his habits, and I assumed the same for the rest.”

Jesse takes a sip of his own coffee, and smiles fondly as if reminiscing. Hanzo ponders if Jesse is a party friend. Who is he kidding, Jesse is absolutely a party person to some extent if he gets along with Genji as well as Hanzo suspects.

Despite this conclusion, Hanzo isn’t turned off to him as person. Maybe it’s because he met Jesse without the aid of his brother, in a laid-back environment meant for studying and coffee; where attractive shirtless baristas spill espresso on themselves. Hanzo’s a cunning man who knows himself well, and knows what he likes in partners.

So when Jesse says, “There is a time and place for parties. I like them as much as I like libraries.” Hanzo’s interest has peaked in the duality of Jesse McCree. He sits up; arms shifting to hold the coffee cup between his hands, cradling the warmth. When Hanzo glances up from the cup, it’s with curious eyes that teeter on suggestive inquiry. The smile that graces his lips when he looks back down to stare at the cup conveys nothing more of the sort.

“Maybe,” Hanzo is deliberate in pause, carefully considering his words, “I was mistaken about Genji’s friends. I would like to get to know you more.”

Jesse takes a sip of coffee and grins brightly at Hanzo.

“Shucks, I’d like to get to know you more too because Genji said you were an absolute asshole and I’ve yet to witness that.”

Hanzo’s visibly cringes at the realization that blowing off Genji for years has undoubtedly left a sour impression on his brother’s friends. Hanzo accepted the unintended (and previously uncared-for) consequence years ago. However, in this very booth he wants to eat his words. Instead, he resorts to previous position of hiding his face in his folded arms on the table.

The warmth from his face recedes to the back of his neck, which is fully exposed with his hair tied up. Hanzo admits in a muffled tone that he _is_ a cruel asshole and absolutely has been to his brother. Jesse laughs heartily, brushing off the actions Hanzo now considers rude and belittling.

“People change.” Jesse notes warmly, in between swigs of espresso in a way that suggests he holds more wisdom than age lets on. The burns on his stomach angrily inflamed and yet forgotten among textbooks of an embarrassed archer. Hanzo feels honored to be blessed with this man’s presence. His smile is contagious even when he must excuse himself to be back on drink duty.

Before leaving the table, he promises he will take his breaks when Hanzo is present in the shop. They can “chit-chat” as the cowboy put it or Jesse could also bring his textbooks from the back to study in conjunction with Hanzo. The appeal of the ladder option must have been written on Hanzo’s face, because Jesse smiles knowingly after offering. He contemplates why, as he’s left alone to just his free coffee and his notes again.

Sitting in an amicable silence reminds Hanzo of old companionable friends, and that type of long founded friendship is what Hanzo considers wholesome. Hanzo also considers companionable friendship to be the perfect grounds for a relationship, Deep down, Hanzo _knows_ he craves this connection with someone.

The thought simmers for a little bit at the front of Hanzo’s mind as he reorganizes his papers on the table. Only when he glances off to the wispy handwriting of an admirer does he realize that maybe he should tread lightly in considering relationships. He has a suitor he has yet to identify, and as patient as Hanzo is, he awaits their reveal among the company of a charming cowboy.

Jesse is pleasant when he first sits with Hanzo, asking if Hanzo would mind before settling down in the booth with a textbook in a language Hanzo did not recognize. Small conversation ensues, the curiosity of Hanzo getting the better of him to ask the class he’s taking. _4460 Syntax Variations of Uto-Azetecan Language Family_ , Hanzo learns. He promptly googles with his phone from under the table where native speakers live.

At the same time the google search completes to say Midwest North America, Jesse mentions he’s from Santa Fe. Hanzo then learns Jesse speaks a language native to his homeland and hopes to become fluent in it through academic study. Maybe preserve the language, if he’s ambitious. But the man is an asset even without a college degree, knowing 5 languages in full fluency, where can switch and interpret as he pleases. Jesse demonstrates his conversational fluency when Hanzo does not answer his question in English of, “Where are you from?” Jesse repeats the question in Japanese.

His cleverness is rewarded with a smile and a reply, mentioning the beauty of Hanamura in the winter with sigh that balances on the edge of longing. Jesse realizes that Hanzo answers questions in more detail in Japanese, compared to English, so he continues to ask in Hanzo’s native tongue.

Turns out Jesse is a first-year graduate student, although one year younger than Hanzo. He doesn’t question it, McCree must be a language prodigy in the united states, and no doubt steamrolled entrance exams. The bridge between math in two different languages required an adjustment period for Hanzo, so he was not as fortunate with exams.

He still prides himself on his grades and accomplishments. He landed himself a few extra medals in shooting competitions from incorporating geometric knowledge into trick shots. Hanzo can’t help but boast about them when he learns Jesse’s an advanced practice gunslinger. A fondness present in the cowboys voice when he refers to a pistol by the name of “peacemaker”, a hint of lively challenge in his next tone where he suggests they should go to the shooting range together sometime.

Hanzo is not at all opposed.

He finds himself pressing random buttons on the calculator, solving for irrelevant equations just to pretend he isn’t daydreaming of the idea of rivalling skills.  If McCree is as good of a shot as he says so, Hanzo is in over his head because he definitely does _not_ consider someone with formidable skill to be extremely attractive.

Hanzo runs his fingers up from the bottom of his neck and threads them into his hair when he asks Genji over text if Jesse was bluffing about his skill.

“He’s the sharpest shot I’ve ever seen, quick too. Can 1v5 kinda sharp shot. Would not lose in a duel easily.”

Oh, Hanzo is absolutely fucked.

When Jesse visits his table again, he asks for permission to sit, and delivers an extra cup of coffee. Hanzo feels awkward, having a guy he’s currently developing an interest in deliver a coffee from a secret admirer.

Except, turning the cup, he notices no wispy handwriting scribbled in haste on the side. _It’s blank_. That’s when Jesse plops down onto the opposite seat, and in the process, plops his own coffee cup on the table.

A splash flies up through the opening to sip from on the cup. It drips down Jesse’s thumb and whatever greeting he was trying to say in the process falls short before he curses.

“I always make a damn fool of myself.” He mutters, more to himself than Hanzo but he hears it anyway.

A napkin wipe later and Hanzo’s burning an ink hole in the paper because he has not moved his hand poised to write with a sharpie in roughly thirty seconds.  McCree was fascinating just to watch exist.

Adjusting his hat, Jesse takes a breath to compose himself before saying,

“Meant to say, I made too much of a Red Eye, this is on the house.” He slides the unmarked cup over, and begins to bounce his leg for a few seconds. A nervous tick Hanzo had yet to witness. The bouncing foot had a solid sole boot on it, yet McCree was mindful enough of the studying environment to keep it silent.

Hanzo appreciates the nicety, and understands Jesse must be nervous to a degree right now. Genji’s ‘one comment’ floats through his mind, but he says nothing more as Jesse pulls out the same textbook as before, and an abused spiral notebook. Hanzo considers the coffee stains that decorate the blue parallel lines charming, and the large and wispy cursive as elegant.

Staring at Jesse’s handwriting stirs something with Hanzo, but nothing clicks.

He sips the free coffee instead, and enjoys the quiet group study.

Hanzo finds himself enjoying quiet studying with Jesse on a regular basis. Whenever he’s in the shop, Jesse goes on break to sit and study, even if only for a half hour. Jesse says a thirty-minute period to study puts pressure to focus on the material, and it works out well. The pressure of time is an excellent tool to study content, Hanzo agrees with the man.

They say nothing more on the subject.

Hanzo continues to show up, and Jesse continues to sit with him when he has the opportunity. Hanzo’s visits are becoming more regular at a specific time, and they fall into a rhythm neither have any intention to disturb.

The mathematician finds comfort in the ability to look up from a challenging problem, and see warm brown hair with hat indents, and a handsome face unequivocally consumed by his own study. If Jesse is chewing on the metal part of a pencil, brows knitted together, he’s also confused. This is when they exchange tired or helpless glances, maybe even a few quips of “I wish I could help,” or “Yer’ stuff looks worse than mine.”

Small talk never meant much to Hanzo, but _wow_ does he yearn to hear Jesse’s small remarks when he’s locked in his room studying too late at night. He’s never procrastinating again. Not procrastinating also means visiting the coffee shop to get ahead of his workload.

Yeah. That’s definitely the only reason why he wants to show up daily and stay longer.

He’s a pitiful liar to himself, and it leaves him with guilt he doesn’t understand why he has. That guilt turns sinful when he sees Jesse’s uniform unbuttoned three buttons too much, like he was a hunk from the 1970s. The revealed skin reminds him that his interests are borderline sinful for a coffeeshop cutie.

A coffeeshop cutie that works there; who brings him messed up coffee orders with his sleeves rolled up and pants far too form-fitting for Hanzo to handle when he walks away from Hanzo’s table. Jesse has as much sex appeal as Hanzo can muster and he seems to foster it effortlessly.

That’s a turn on Hanzo’s helpless about.

Yet, Hanzo takes his four-inch-thick calculus textbook and beats his attraction down into a neat little cube that he can effectively ignore. Burying himself in homework has never been more efficient; he gets ahead of the homework and he stops himself from acting like an idiot around Jesse.

Hanzo is nothing but calm, collected, and unusually dedicated to his subject. Jesse even mentions it’s admirable how well Hanzo can focus. A compliment Hanzo bears with a shy smile and a hand on his neck.

* * *

 

The next time they sit together, Hanzo is dressed down from a formal event. Loose tie, untucked shirt, blazer hanging over an arm. He changed out of crisp slacks to sweatpants and slippers. His bookbag claims his usual spot as he orders. Now he purchases only small cups of coffee, nearly anticipating the secret admirer to strike again or the employees giving him the messed-up orders for free.

Like clockwork, an hour into his visit and mid-rant to Jesse about his upcoming exam, Mei drops off a cup.

His words fall short, and he doesn’t care enough to summon them again because the cup just told him he looks “smoking hot” and requests him to unbutton the three top buttons on his collared shirt.

Hanzo just stares at the cup. Long enough for McCree’s brow to furrow and then rotate the cup to read it for himself.

“Oh?” McCree’s tone is quizzical, yet Hanzo never looks up to see his expression.

“Indeed.” Hanzo replies, before beginning to chew on his lip.

Jesse knows about the secret admirer situation. Hanzo has inquired to him before; curious if Jesse knew any details. The cowboy fumbled and said no, he just made whatever the instructions on the cup were. A moment of silence passes between them, both lost in their own thoughts before McCree shifts the subject back to the cup and its request.

“What are you gonna do ‘bout that?”

Hanzo swallows thickly, and adjusts to sit with perfect posture as a hand makes its way to his collar. He unbuttons the first three buttons. Jesse chuckles.

“I’ll play along, I still don’t have a clue about who keeps sending these.”

“I wouldn’t have expected you to play along.”

That warrants Hanzo to look defiantly at Jesse, and as an act to prove himself, he unbuttons the rest of his shirt down. He even pulls the exposed hem over just enough to reveal the chiseled dip above his collarbones. When he leans back, he comments about how he would pull the hair tie out his hair for maximum sex appeal, but it wasn’t asked of him and he really does prefer it up for studying purposes.

Hanzo gazes sweeps around the room, carefully reading over each unassuming face in the room, none of which were looking at him. When his room analysis finishes, he looks over at Jesse: lip bitten, mechanical pencil midway writing a word, lost in thought as he stares at Hanzo’s chest. Jesse’s the only one looking at him, in fact. Hanzo can feel it.

“Like what you see cowboy?” Hanzo jokingly teases, voice warm with mirth. The pencil led Jesse had pressed to the paper abruptly _snaps_. It jostles him out of his stupor, and Hanzo watches the cogwheels of Jesse’s mind process his words then calculate a retort.

“You look like a CFO of a bigshot company who just had an affair with your assistant in the office, and you don’t give a shit who knows.”

Hanzo shouldn’t have laughed, but the honesty is charming. Jesse is blunt rather than polite to Hanzo and it’s a characteristic of the cowboy that he appreciates. His laugh makes Jesse’s shoulders slump at ease, and his expression lights up with his well-received joke. Hanzo could have flirted back by telling McCree he’s the assistant. Or that he doesn’t wear underwear with sweatpants. Or that Hanzo absolutely would not have a problem getting it on in an office.

Instead, he just scoffs a remark about how he wishes he was a CFO. In time, maybe.

Jesse erases his previous mistakes on the paper and mentions Hanzo is the type to get up that high in rank. Even admits that Hanzo looks kind of wealthy, gesturing to the golden inlay that decorated his bow.

“Genji never mentioned we own an estate in Hanamura, did he.”

The dumbstruck look on McCree’s face says it all. Hanzo explains his origin story between small sips of coffee and flipping to the back of his math textbook for the answers to only the odd problems.

He spoke fondly of Hanamura just like before, except he goes in depth about the gardens, the bell, the local streets. How his family owned all of it, how he could have whatever he wanted, whoever he wanted, at the price of being a descendant of Edo dynasty royalty turned modern yakuza. It’s at this point Hanzo’s tongue has jumped from English to Japanese, as if too ashamed to speak it in English.

Jesse listens with his pencil set aside, notebook closed, and textbook forgotten. He listens silently, intently absorbing as much information he could translate in his head. He nods slowly when Hanzo pauses, to let him know he’s attentive and interested.

Hanzo finds himself feeling significantly smaller than usual in the booth he’s sat in nearly every other day for the past two months. He feels exposed in his attire, a stark contrast to the confidence he felt just minutes before from it. Yet, pushing past these feelings he finds resolve in McCree’s non-judgmental listening. The quiet questions he asks in between longer pauses are nothing more than inquisitive of how Hanzo felt back then.

His genuine curiosity intersected with genuine care for Hanzo in the darker moments of his life. So much so that details which pain him to think about come tumbling out of his mouth effortlessly. At the end of it all, Jesse doesn’t look at him any different. Hanzo feels weightless of all things, his dark past shared, although anxiety and too much caffeine loom over his head, Jesse’s effect does not falter.

Abruptly Jesse stands, and this is what makes anxiety worm its way into elevating Hanzo’s heartbeat.

“You’re not alone in your second chances here, and I think it’s only fair I tell you my tale too.” Jesse shimmies his way out of the booth, then shakes cup of coffee to confirm its empty. “But first, _coffee_. You wanna another cup?”

Hanzo’s taken back. He feels nearly honored for Jesse to offer his life after Hanzo spilling his. When he finds himself politely declining a cup of coffee, he receives a cup of ice water on Jesse’s return instead. He mumbles something mostly incoherent except for the words, “Staying hydrated”.

Hanzo closes his textbook, stows away the notes, and lays his phone face down on the table. The cowboy cups his coffee with both hands and speaks fondly of his childhood, and Hanzo could anticipate where his past was headed the more solemn his tone became. Jesse can’t make eye contact when he speaks for more than a few seconds, eyes darting away in a manner that urges Hanzo to gently grasp his chin and tilt his eyes back into focus.

The saying about the eyes being windows to the soul were never relevant to Hanzo until Jesse. Those eyes that peek from under the brim of the hat are deep; darkened with secrets and experiences that Hanzo slowly learns. Experiences Hanzo wishes he could have stepped in to save Jesse from.

Absent parents. Biker gang as only home, and while they were his family, they gave him a formidable criminal record. Trained killer busted early, jailed for life. Spent a few weeks behind bars before he traded freedom for special ops skills in the military. It’s at this point that Hanzo realizes his brother’s relation to Jesse.

“Blackwatch?” Hanzo interjects quietly and in English. Jesse smiles, and it’s the only response that Hanzo needs.

“If you’re familiar with Genji’s deployment phase two years ago, you’re familiar with mine. We’re now just on-call as the world sees fit, our commander is also on this campus. He’s an asshole of a coffee shop manager.” Jesse chuckles to himself after his statement, and Hanzo huffs while smiling. Genji spoke often of Reyes.

“I hope you did not also refer to him as ‘daddy’.”

Jesse’s smile breaks into a wicked grin and he just winks. Hanzo be damned if he didn’t find the brief sinister expression appealing. The conversation shifts, lighter after that; both parties at ease. The way Jesse laughs at Hanzo’s witty comments makes him feel like he’s not introverted. Hanzo has his full undivided attention when he speaks, and it flusters Hanzo if he speaks just a little too long. McCree gives encouraging smiles when Hanzo flubs a word or loses track of his thought process, and Hanzo damn near melts at how much of a sweetheart Jesse is.

Both lost in conversation end up talking until close time. Sombra and Mei don’t seem to mind two-manning the shop.

* * *

 

They hang out the next day, and yet another cup of coffee from the admirer finds its way to the table. This time, Mei interrupts a conversation about how living off-campus is the deluxe life. Hanzo is almost embarrassed by now, because at heart he knows Jesse is preferred over whoever this admirer is by now.

He reads the message on the cup out-loud, “When you take a break from studying, can you let your hair down for me? Xoxo”

Hanzo processes the message, before it dawns on him that the admirer overheard him yesterday when he talked about letting his hair down for maximum sex appeal. He voices this to McCree, who hums thoughtfully in response. Hanzo hums back in reply, as he gently tugs at the hairtie to his hair and comments, “I’ll put it back up when you get off break.”

Strands fly into the front of Hanzo’s vision and his neck warms. His hair falls to barely touch his shoulders. Lithe fingers comb through his hair, pleased when he found no knots so he ruffles it a little. The disheveled look is what he aims for in this kind of scenario, not at all a preference, but since it’s just temporary he will humor the free coffee.

Only when he hears McCree mumble, “Goddamn,” does Hanzo look towards the man. Jesse’s eyes dart away from Hanzo as soon as their eyes meet, and his head tilts down to hide his eyes under brim of his hat. Jesse’s hand rubs at his neck, and the rosy hues that dust what Hanzo can see of Jesse’s cheeks give more hope than Hanzo’s nerdy heart could handle at his current heartrate. He ignores the feeling to check on Jesse.

“Are you alright?”

“Mighty fine. It’s just—I’m just uh, _tired_.” Jesse says, then repeats the word ‘tired’ to himself a couple more times before continuing, “Let’s just say I’ve had a long day. With your hair down you look… relaxed. It reminded me of my lack of sleep.” Jesse rubs his eyelids with his thumb and pointer finger, before sitting upright again.

Hanzo can see the pink hues on the bridge of his nose now. Combined with the intense stare that Jesse was holding with him, it makes Hanzo flush a little as well. The warmth of the free coffee, always with nutmeg and cinnamon, just warms his face up more.

“I do not know your sleep schedule, but I hope it’s not as bad as I suspect it is now.”

“Let’s just say my favorite drink,” Jesse swirls the cup of coffee in his hand as if gesturing its contents, “is called _Dead Eye_ for a reason.”

Hanzo scoffs, giving a brief half-hearted lecture on why missing sleep is bad—and that he’s the same way, except his seething distaste for professors paralleled with wanting success keeps him up at night. Caffeine is just a pick-me-up during the day for Hanzo, and that three shots of espresso in his coffee would make him hallucinate. He mentions this with a hand tucking a strand of hair behind his ear.

He watches Jesse follow the motion. He watches Jesse gulp and his adam’s apple bob as it happens. He bites his lip before looking over to the counter. Hanzo notices the deep dip of the clavicle that peaks from under the work uniform’s orange shirt, unbuttoned partway down his chest. Hanzo notices how thick his eyelashes are; how they match his eyes too. Richly pigmented irises remind him of the coffee he’s grown fond of.

Ah, the coffee. Hanzo mindlessly grabs his cup.

The sip of coffee too intense for his liking tells him that he accidentally drank from Jesse’s cup. The all too familiar taste of nutmeg and cinnamon overwhelm his tastebuds, and their presence sends an electrifying epiphany through Hanzo.

“Nutmeg and cinnamon.” Hanzo says, more to himself than McCree.

He’s positive it’s not the caffeine. He’s never heard of anyone else in his life putting nutmeg and cinnamon in their regular coffee. He knows he should apologize for drinking accidentally from his cup, but an apology is the farthest thing on his mind right now as he holds his cup with his left hand, and Jesse’s with his right.

He sips from Jesse’s cup again, and Jesse doesn’t care, but bewilderment is evident on his face. Jesse sits up a little, after Hanzo reaffirms, “Nutmeg and cinnamon” with more confidence.

The cups clack on the table, and Hanzo rotates his to see the comment. Jesse’s cup is blank, and that makes sense because he knows how to make what he wants without instruction, but it leaves Hanzo unable to compare the handwriting.

_The handwriting._

Hanzo’s swift in grabbing Jesse’s spiral notebook in front of him, the same one he brings on all his breaks to review older notes. He flips it open to a random page, and glances back and forth between a column full of word variations Hanzo can’t quite pronounce and the cup that asked him to put his hair down.

Oh, Hanzo’s sure of it now. Jesse’s actions of folding his arms on the table and hiding his head in his arms nearly confirms it. The archer hears a muffled sound that roughly translated to an ‘oh no’ from Jesse. His hat falls off in the process, and it unceremoniously rolls next to him on the table. The cowboy’s ears are red, and so is his neck.

The man is embarrassed, and knowing what caused that embarrassment only makes Hanzo’s face feel incredibly hot.

“I think,” Hanzo begins, rechecking over each bit of evidence, taking a deep breath, and continuing, “I know who my admirer is, Jesse.” Hanzo comments, as if it isn’t obvious now. Jesse shifts to lift himself off the table, but his elbows remain on the surface and he smothers his face with his hands. His hair without the hat has a golden sheen where the sun shines on it. Hanzo’s eyes linger—his hair looks soft.

“I didn’t expect the coffee order itself, to uh—be uh… _the giveaway_ of all things.”

“I didn’t expect it to be you.” Hanzo puts it simply.

His hands rotate the cup with the comment. The admirer overheard Hanzo’s comment because he was the one directly spoken to about the hairtie. The admirer was a clever man who wrote out cups and had them delivered on a time-delay so nothing would seem suspicious.

The admirer is Jesse.

Jesse wrote everything on the cups.

Said man is currently dying of embarrassment, maybe even shame or humiliation right now based on the contrast of the tanned skin on the back of his hands compared to the flush on his cheeks and ears. Hanzo feels like that himself, but more than anything he’s heavy with the knowledge that it’s his time now to confess, and he should do it soon before Jesse has a meltdown.

“This makes it easier now.” Hanzo begins, he starts to rub his thumb along the plastic rim of the coffee cup, “I was fretting over how to gently let down the admirer when they… when they revealed themselves because I developed too much of an interest in um— _you_.”

The fingers hiding Jesses face part just enough to peek at Hanzo, and he finds the motion adorable. Checking to see if Hanzo was joking; as if he would ever say something like that without meaning it. Hanzo laughs warmly at the situation, staring at his hands as they encircle his cup of coffee.

He recalls the first cup he received, “Smart, skilled, and hot, hmm?” Hanzo teases, strangely at ease despite the situation. One hand falls from Jesse’s face, and he leans against the other, smushing his cheek to his nose, eyes closed as if in deep concentration.

“You walked in as the most breathtaking person I’ve seen in my life, then you turn out to be brilliant _and_ a marksman and I-I was sold.” Jesse was near rambling, with his forearms now laying on the table and one hand rubbing the other self-consciously. Hanzo craves to slide his coffee cup to the side, and gently set his hands over Jesse’s on the table. He wants to feel the calluses, scars, warmth, and his thumb rubbing soothingly over his own.

Yet Hanzo maintains his self-control, instead shifting his knees underneath the table to press against Jesse’s. Hanzo learns he’s warm all over, including his legs.

“The coffee is what I noticed first. Then your language capabilities became impressive.” Hanzo pauses, having a sip of coffee, “And you may be rough around the edges, but personally, that makes you easy on the eyes.”

Hanzo can’t believe that he spoke all of that without fucking up his words, only needing one sip of coffee to regain composure in between. He’s high on adrenaline, caffeine, and the glowing feeling of knowing who he’s developed an interest in feels the same way.

The feeling is invigorating, although jittery. He notes that Jesse must be feeling the same, because he’s doing his hardest to maintain only a small smile. It’s a façade that cracks when he chuckles, before a full blown lopsided smile lights up his face.

He hides his face by ducking down until his head hits the table, trying to compose himself to not seem like a maniac, but blissfully failing. Hanzo can’t resist Jesse’s ability to be so cute. Hanzo doesn’t even mind how ecstatic Jesse is about the situation because the only difference between them is Hanzo’s much better at maintaining composure.

Hanzo really can’t handle the quiet, muffled chuckle. McCree was a handsome hardened soldier who was adorable beyond any other guy Hanzo has ever witnessed, openly in public. That’s another thing he’s fond about Jesse for; he’s an honest man in the sense that he never hides his emotions. He’s never the kind of stoic that Hanzo defaults to.

That whole concept of McCree wearing his heart on a sleeve is contagious. Hanzo can’t help himself when he reaches out to grab Jesse’s hands at last. Holding them lightly at first; acknowledging every fold in his palms with the tips of his fingers. Jesse still doesn’t lift his head from the table, but his hands do encourage Hanzo’s own to come closer. Jesse’s grip confident and smooth when he runs his hands over Hanzo’s too.

He does eventually muster up the will to sit up, staring at their hands together with a fond expression. He’s biting his lips to try to contain a smile again. Or maybe contain his words, but again, Jesse fails to maintain his composure. In general, it seems keeping quiet is something that he’s bad at.

“Do you think you would like to try dating? I mean—shit. Like not even dating, I would just be really _really_ happy if we could be closer.”

Hanzo nods in agreement, and gives Jesse’s hands a light squeeze for additional confirmation. Or maybe Hanzo just wanted to squeeze Jesse’s hands, he’s not so sure now that he thinks about it.

He’s too happy to think straight, and he couldn’t give less of a shit. Study material forgotten.


	2. Affectionate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They do cute things as they explore boundaries and study habits but are no longer limited to just the coffee shop setting! 
> 
> Note that it is cold-catching season among first kiss, for that Realistic Edge™.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If unfamiliar, the only form of social media mentioned is Snapchat, where people have conversations by sending pictures (with text on top). These images would only last on the receiver's end for ten seconds or less before expiring.

Coffee is free now. Even when Jesse isn’t working, his forms of payment are waved off or purposefully ignored with a sly smirk. When Jesse is working, he finds a comment on every single recyclable cup he receives or a napkin if he orders an in-house mug.

_“You look wonderful today.”_

_“Good luck on your exam. <3”_

_“I hope you wear that sweater again soon.”_

_“Do you want to borrow my serape?”_

The end of fall semester is approaching, and thus the nights are longer. Days colder. Hanzo does his best to bundle himself well the colder it gets, but those few transition days from warm temperate climate to constant jacket weather can throw him off. So, when Hanzo comes in with a simple t-shirt and his hands rubbing his bare arms, the cowboy notices.

By the time Hanzo reads the note scribbled in the beautiful font that is Jesse’s handwriting, Jesse has already dropped off a rustic-looking poncho apparatus. Within seconds of inspecting it to realize the inside is lined with cashmere, its instantly over Hanzo’s head.

How soft and thick the piece of clothing was felt downright _sinful_ to Hanzo’s frigid extremities. He holds his coffee cup close to his heart, boosting his warmth. Jesse’s jacket-thing is one of the cozier things in life Hanzo had the permission to indulge in. Woolen thick, smelling like cheap laundry detergent Hanzo may have used at some point in his life and old coffee. Closer inspection of the fabric near to his neck reveals a few coffee stains hidden among the rich tones of the fabric, and likely explain the strange combination of smells.

The strange combination suits Jesse as expected, and Hanzo buries his nose into a stain to smell a hint of cinnamon too. That hint makes him smile into the fabric; the look caught moments later by Jesse across the room smiling like he’s pleased with himself for how comfortable his clothes are.

Hanzo in truth, would like to end up in situations where he could wear Jesse’s other clothes too.

How lovely the garment makes him feel is overwhelming his will to study, or at least trying to. He’s not so sure he’s determined to fight to keep his focus either; he’s used a textbook as a makeshift pillow before and is bound to do it again, why not now?

The thought of showing up to a final tomorrow without a cram session terrifies Hanzo, and it’s enough for him to put aside his coffee, un-slouch his body from the fuzziness, and set to work again. However mindful of how often Jesse looks over to him and smiles a dorky smile to himself. He only knows when it happens because Sombra _loudly_ pokes fun at for him for it every time, no need to look up from his problem sets.

When Jesse visits him on break that day, he sits as he always does across the table, and he now personally delivers his own cups with compliments on them to Hanzo.

“I really like how you look in my things. I hope to see you in more.”

They think the same, and Hanzo bites his lip to refrain from agreeing with him in an embarrassing manner.

Conversation proceeds how it always does on breaks. A few quips about the comment on the cup, how sweet Jesse is and how much Hanzo is tempted to steal this strange warmth poncho he learns is called a “serape”. It’s the small gestures that Hanzo notices, and luckily, it’s the small gestures that Jesse excels at giving. When they laugh heartily about an inside joke pertaining to the library, their knees touch. They remain touching, and it’s enough of a constant contact that keeps a smile always plastered to their faces. Elation is one hell of a feeling; Hanzo could get used to this.

When Hanzo packs up for the day, he does so swiftly, and ninja’s his way out of the shop—still wearing Jesse’s serape.

Only when Jesse nearly begs for it back three days later and promises that it’s the only winter overcoat item he owns, is Hanzo willing to amuse the idea of giving it back to him. Until then, he wears it every second he is within the comfort of his own dorm. He could be in just his underwear and then the serape. He flaunts to no one, but preens if someone sees him wearing it in the hallway per chance. Even if it’s just the custodian. The garment makes him feel nice.

Which is why when it’s time to hand it back over, Hanzo pulls a jacket of his own out of his bookbag and hands it over to Jesse. He may or may not have sprayed cologne both _in_ it and _on_ it before bringing it in. His efforts immediately rewarded when he sees Jesse pull it on to see if it fits, watching as the man brings the collar back up to his nose to sniff it again.

 _Oh wow_ , does Jesse look nice in Hanzo’s favorite hoodie.

Watching Jesse try to discreetly smell the jacket in different ways is something Hanzo finds both empowering and charming.

“I do not like the idea of you without something warm for the winter, but _I do not_ want to give this back yet.”

Hanzo doesn’t tell him that it’s his favorite jacket, and yet somehow Hanzo suspects Jesse understands its value. Jesse smiles brightly after promising to take good care of it.

* * *

 

Jesse’s wearing that hoodie whenever Hanzo sees him now, and he’s prideful about it. He even wears it around his apartment, in which Hanzo sees in Genji’s snapchats, because Genji damn well knows who’s jacket that is.

The first snapchat selfie Hanzo sends to his brother while wearing Jesse’s serape is screenshotted, and then Genji promptly calls him only to yell into the phone excitedly. He’s buzzing with questions about what’s going on between them, and Hanzo is somewhat overwhelmed at it all, but he can’t help the smile even as his thumb and pointer finger rub tiredly at his eyelids. Hanzo can only get Genji off the phone by promising to take another picture of himself in the serape which he can use to bribe McCree into doing extra house chores.

Hanzo is more than happy to get off the line, and if Jesse is anything like Genji the place must be a pigsty.

Thus, there he is, trying hard to pose naturally but with all his preferred angles.

He’s notified promptly of Genji screenshotting the selfie. Not even ten minutes later he receives a friend request from _vaquero1_. Immediately upon accepting the request he’s hit with a picture of a dirty sink, and in the unfocused background Genji kicking his feet up on a stack of a dozen (hopefully empty) pizza boxes—lounging like a king.

The caption, “I nearly sold my soul for that picture; thankfully he settled for free labor.”

Hanzo immediately has the tip of a capped pen in his mouth, and he rolls the indented part of the pen between his teeth. The first thought Hanzo has is that Jesse uses semicolons and types properly on mobile. The second thought is that _grinding is bad for the health of your teeth, stop it._

He pauses, momentarily engrossed by the idea that Jesse was willing to do who knows what to have a photo of him.

Maybe Hanzo should send him another one, maybe customized to their current conversation. The unspoken of rule of thumb for Hanzo and snapchat is if the receiver uses their front facing camera, then Hanzo will do the same. But if all he’s getting are pictures of sudsy dishwater and the occasional plate and fork, then all Jesse will receive is where the back of Hanzo’s desk meets a cinderblock wall.

Temptation stays around though, as Jesse seems to follow the same rule. Hanzo _wants_ to see him.

The unspoken and once unbroken rule is bent, and Jesse receives a picture Hanzo cloaked in his serape, the back of Hanzo’s hand covering the lower half of his face with a peace sign.

Hanzo receives a brightly smiling cowboy, with florescent yellow sink gloves on that go down his forearms and Hanzo’s starkly contrasting black hoodie. All of which the archer notices before he reads the words,

“We should see each other more, maybe outside the coffeeshop, yeah?”

Hanzo verbally replies, “Yeah.” To his empty dorm room before he realizes Jesse can’t hear. He allows himself a small smile in the next snapchat,

“I study in the library on the weekends, you’re welcome to join me.”

The reply back is instantaneous and of agreement. Hanzo later learns that Jesse also studied in the library on Sundays, just on the first floor or wherever he pulled a book from the shelf.

* * *

 

The arranged meetup is on the first floor, in the computer lab bay, but in the plain table section. The specific location is a table against a wall that has two seats, but in theory could fit three determined friends. As Hanzo looks out the large window in front of him, he’s slightly surprised with himself that he did not try to study over here prior. The noisiness of the first-floor comes to mind, prompted of moments later when he hears the ruckus that is his brother’s laugh several meters down the hallway.

Hanzo checks the time, 9:50. It’s too early for Genji to be awake without responsibilities. Yet an all too familiar teenage mutant ninja turtle bookbag is slung across his table moments later. It hits the table lightly, as if there was nothing in it—there probably wasn’t.

A voice smooth as honey chirps, “Howdy” in a tone way too composed for how early it is on a weekend. A leather satchel lands in the seat next to Hanzo, the thud produced suggests it is legitimately filled with study materials.

When Jesse sits, Genji pushes his chair over closer to Hanzo, their wooden chairs line up perfectly to create a makeshift bench.  Genji is the determined third friend, who plants his ass next to McCree and whips out a tablet from who knows where. Hopefully not from his bookbag he slammed onto the table. The cracks along the side of the screen indicate otherwise. Hanzo chews his lip to withhold scolding Genji’s carelessness.

Instead, he opts to greet Jesse.

The cowboy tips his hat. Genji makes a mention that whenever he gets an email from Dr. Ziegler in the robotics lab, he will be heading over to the building next door. Until then, Genji’s “dutiful studying” is playing a side scroller game on the tablet, with the sound on and no headphones because he insists he needs to hear the ding of the email during game.

Hanzo rolls his eyes.

Jesse doesn’t spread out his materials across the table, rather he keeps only the notebook and associated book with him. A single highlighter and a well-used wooden pencil are all he prefers. Hanzo glances over to his two sharpies and twelve felt tip pens.

Quietly he asks if Jesse has enough room on the table, between Genji’s bookbag and his greedy consumption of table space.

Jesse is a simple man, and he waves off any offering of Hanzo to move his things over. The cowboy wound up with the worst possible seat, the middle of two others, thigh-to-thigh and elbow-to-elbow close. It’s an unspoken blessing Jesse is ambidextrous—Hanzo’s eyes following with renewed interest as the pen in one hand is tossed to the other, and Jesse continues casually writing out an assignment.

The man really does have a gift with words—spoken and written.

When the tablet abruptly _dings_ , Genji is out of his seat in an instant. Within seconds he’s said his goodbyes, moved the stolen chair back over to the table he borrowed it from, and hauled ass out of the library. Hanzo finds the antics suspicious, knowing Genji was nowhere near _that_ motivated to get to any engagement with a professor.

He mentions this in an off-hand comment to Jesse, without him looking up from the textbook. Jesse mutters something about a life debt to ‘Mercy’. Hanzo makes a sound that could be interpreted as inquisitive, or a response one gives when they don’t know what to say next. Jesse says nothing more on the subject; merely moving his satchel onto the table and spreading out his materials where Genji once was.

Jesse makes no effort to scooch away from Hanzo, despite the whole two ass-cheeks worth of reopened seating space. Hanzo doesn’t bring it up.

Accidental elbowing at the turn of a page is a distraction, almost as much as the cologne Jesse wears or the impromptu DJ with loudspeakers somewhere behind them. Hanzo unable to focus and equally unwilling to ask the DJ to use headphones, as they are on the first floor where it is allowed. He opts for caffeine to fix his inattention.

When he mentions this to Jesse he’s up in an instant with a quip, “I get coffees for free everywhere on campus; be back in two.”

Two minutes was really ten minutes, but who was counting? Not Hanzo, of course. Never double checked to make sure Jesse had to come back for his things when he was unaware either. The line of the library coffeeshop was often long, Hanzo tells himself.

Eventually, a cup falls into his front view; slowly descending onto his momentarily closed calculus textbook. Before it lands, Hanzo’s hands are instantly on the cup and the foreign hand welding it, slowly steering it away from anywhere near that mint condition $379.99 textbook.

The backside of Jesse’s hand is as warm as the chuckle heard in close quarters behind him. Hanzo can’t help but smile to himself at the mumble of an apology. He mentions he wants to sell it back in mint condition, and Jesse immediately groans at how cheap the bookstore on campus can be.

“One highlighted line in the first chapter of a ‘hundred and fifty-dollar book, the condition went from mint to average. I got eight bucks back.”

Hanzo grimaces, empathetic. He cannot hold that face for long though, as Jesse sits back down in his chair and scoots to be flush with Hanzo’s chair. No denying how intentionally close he is. When Hanzo arches a knowing eyebrow in his direction, Jesse just bites his lip to quell a smile and averts his eyes to his notes.

Hanzo playfully nudges the man’s shoulder with his. Jesse leans into his touch, into his personal bubble and Hanzo is thrilled rather than claustrophobic. A whim floats into his mind: maybe he should kiss Jesse’s cheek.

 _No_. That’s beyond them right now, despite how much affection Hanzo craves.                                

An hour passes of quiet and peaceful studying, interrupted only by small sips of coffee and the occasional rowdiness of the first-floor library computer lab.

It’s mid-way through a confusing problem-set that Hanzo turns his upper body and thuds his head against Jesse’s shoulder with his eyes clamped shut in rebellion. The math problem does not exist if he cannot see it, and he voices this to Jesse. He chuckles, proceeded by softly petting Hanzo’s hair in pity.

The hand lingers, and head pats turn into stroking his hair. Jesse mumbles that his hair is softer than silk.

Calloused fingers on his roots feel nice. The sound of pencil strokes on discount lined paper soothe him. The muscles that tense and relax underneath his forehead remind him that Jesse is fully capable of focusing right now, and feels guilty for not keeping up. Jesse’s focus, impressive. Jesse’s ability to draw pentagons with his fingernails on Hanzo’s scalp, priceless.

Hanzo now craves to kiss this shoulder. Wrap his arms around the man’s torso, and throw his weight so that they lean back together. But he refrains with an iron will, regretfully pulling away from the warm and firm shoulder and returning to chapter thirty-three of his demise, featuring matrices.

Now he’s really thinking about cuddling McCree, after all he’s warm, close, and significantly more entertaining than this textbook. He runs a hand through hair and sighs, pulling out his secret weapon: a TI-89 CAS calculator.

The last resort, only for the fact that it can solve anything he can figure out how to input in the calculator, however it cannot show him how to solve the problem in the first place. Nor does it save his exam grade.

But he really wants to hold Jesse. He promises himself that’s his reward after the chapter. The bribe tricks his brain and it works. However, as he finishes, Jesse stands to stretch. He mentions he’s taking on a shift to cover a weekend employee in two hours, and needs to go home and prepare. Hanzo respects that.

“Can you watch my stuff for a few before I go, though? Would like to use the toilet first.”

Hanzo agrees, withholding any form of disappointment from slipping into his tone. At least he cleared out the work he wanted done. If Jesse had places to be, he would in no way bring up anything to distract him from his duties—cuddling included. However, that doesn’t mean he could leave a note for later.

It feels unconventional to switch roles; Jesse always wrote the notes between them. Now, Hanzo hastily scribbles a note on the next page of Jesse’s notebook admitting how tempted he was to cuddle.

_“Sitting so close is pleasant yet the whole time all I could think about was holding you—instead of math. Is that type of contact ok with you?”_

Several hours into the night, he receives a snapchat of the note under desk lamp lighting. Captioned, “Yes please, glad to know I’m not the only one.”

* * *

 

The next coffee shop chit-chat they hold is different. When Jesse sits down at the table, it’s on the same side as Hanzo. Thighs touch, and Hanzo realizes this is how close Jesse likes to be with him. When Hanzo leans forward to focus on reading a word problem, Jesse smoothly slings an arm around his back and rubs Hanzo’s farthest shoulder.

The hand lingers and Hanzo leans into his touch. As determined of concentration he may have, he stares blankly at the paragraph his eyes settle on. Rather he’s engrossed with the release of endorphins from the fact that Jesse has an arm around him, silently sipping coffee and looking elsewhere in the shop as if they always sat like this.

Only the easy smile Jesse bears gives away the novelty of it all. Hanzo feels warm, and not because of the nutmeg and cinnamon which swirl in his cup.

His feigned concentration soon flubs to a cashmere-lined serape and toned arms. Hanzo first leans back, and then into Jesse. He continues leaning to the side until he lays vertical in the booth, with his head and shoulders on Jesse’s lap after minor readjustments.

Jesse peers down at him with a fond expression. Hanzo feels helpless to the gentle caresses of Jesse’s hands in his hair. Deft fingers draw swirls on his scalp, and Hanzo must refrain from babbling random facts about the Fibonacci sequence to someone who likely has no interest in such a subject. However, those eyes look at him like he could read the nutrition facts of a gingerbread latte and Jesse would remain intrigued with the conversation.

Maybe not because of the conversation, but of Hanzo himself. Maybe Jesse likes the sound of his voice; Hanzo certainly likes Jesse’s. The thought makes him look away, turning on his side by awkwardly shuffling his weight in the booth.

This action of turning away seems to open more opportunities for Jesse’s hand, and fingernails gently drag down Hanzo’s head and neck to his shoulder. A soft squeeze at his shoulder and a clearly self-indulgent squeeze of his bicep a moment later has Hanzo’s eyes crinkling in amusement.

McCree rubs his arm slowly and soothingly, but Hanzo prefers Jesse’s hands in his hair. Only a few minutes pass by before Hanzo’s reaching up to grasp Jesse’s hand, which pauses in its movements immediately. Jesse mumbles out an apology before Hanzo can even move his hand over to his head again.

But when he does, he sinks Jesse’s fingertips into his hair and he hears the cowboy quietly, “aww,” before returning to drawing shapes with his fingertips, fully pampering Hanzo with affectionate geometry he’s learned to enjoy.

* * *

 

The most unfortunate thing about living in a dorm from Hanzo’s perspective is if one person on the floor gets a cold, everyone will have that cold within two weeks tops. Colds affect some worse than others, and it’s just Hanzo’s luck to have the heaviest of symptoms for the rhino virus. A stuffed nose one hour and a runny nose the next. He gasped in both disgust then horror when snot landed on his open calculus textbook.

So much for mint condition.

Speaking of which, he dearly wished-for mints with peppermint oil or cough drops with eucalyptus. He’s suffering a sore throat that felt so painfully tight it parallels the burn of a chemical explosion. Hanzo showered less than three hours ago but felt repugnant. If he even had the energy to walk to the coffee shop to study he wouldn’t, just because he wouldn’t want Jesse to witness him in real time.

Snapchats are okay though; between sneezes and aggressive use of twisted tissues shoved up his nostrils. Only his angrily red nose and complaints of discomfort give away that he has a cold as conversation ensues through their phones.

Jesse learns Hanzo is ill through these small complaints; no energy, throat hurts, nose is bothersome. Hanzo realizes he should have seen it coming when Jesse asked if he had the energy to go anywhere but class, and then promptly stopped responding.

 _Knock, knock_.

Hanzo grumbles “come in” mindlessly after glancing at the clock, sounding not at all pleased Satya from down the hall was visiting him for group study at their usual Monday time. He communicated with her that he was likely still contagious just this morning, and will be absent for this week.

When Hanzo turns around though, lecture about viral and germ safety on the tip of his tongue, his words fall short.

Jesse stood on his doormat; snow flurries decorate his hat and Hanzo’s favorite hoodie. Two hot steaming paper cups in a carboard holding tray, a box of tissues under his arm. Hanzo is off his bed in an instant, mildly embarrassed about the state of his side of the room covered in tissues, but he holds in the feeling with grace. There’s more important things to focus on.

“How did you know where I live and how did you past the locked stairways?”

“Genji and don’t worry about it.”

Hanzo’s head falls forward in response, but a smile present on his lips. That smile grows when he learns Jesse made his usual coffee order in addition to black tea with honey and lemon; just in case coffee is less effective than tea for sore throats. He was right in his suspicions, as Hanzo vastly prefers hot teas when he’s not feeling up to par. Hanzo vastly prefers cute cowboys explaining other things he brought, procuring a warm brownie wrapped in napkins from the cardboard drink tray. Further inspection reveals that the brownie has little crushed peppermints on it and Hanzo is enamored with the man before him.

Textbook forgotten, yet again. If Jesse is the end of his perfect grades, Hanzo wouldn’t be upset about it. Hell, he may not even notice at this rate.

Greedily he slides the hot tea from the tray; beyond pleased when the “extra hot” instruction scribbled on the side is true to its mark. It’s scalds his aching throat numb, oh _so_ blissfully numb after a whole day of cold medicine providing insufficient relief. He cannot taste the bite he takes from the brownie, but he can tell its rich from how dense the brownie is and feels the crushed peppermint’s sharp edges on the roof of his mouth followed by the cooling mintiness.

One sip of tea unexpectedly made to his personal preferences, and he looks dead in Jesse’s eyes without hesitation to say:

“I would kiss you right now if I wasn’t contagious. I cannot adequately explain with words how grateful I am for these things.”

Jesse takes his hat off and holds it over his heart, eyes hopeful.

“I don’t care if you’re contagious.”

He never insists, at least verbally. His expression nearly begs Hanzo, and he must admit the man is far too mindful of boundaries because Hanzo takes the holding tray from him and he watches the cowboy go through the five stages of grief in his body language, as if the idea of a kiss was off the table.

In reality, Hanzo did not want him to drop hot concentrated bean-water and tissues all over the floor when he does turn around and re-approach the cowboy—with full intention to peck him. It’s not his problem if Jesse gets sick, Hanzo did articulate that he had a barrier _to protect Jesse, not himself_.

Hanzo is as nimble as he could be with double-layered socks on tile. One hand settles over the one that holds Jesse’s hat over his heart, and Hanzo isn’t sure if he meant it for stability or as an endearing gesture until after their lips meet. His balance does in fact waiver, and the growing smile on Jesse’s face evolves into a big toothy smile when Hanzo squeezes his hand.

“Thank ya’ darlin’.” His accent thick, and its at this point Hanzo realizes it comes through in his speech more when he tries to be likable.

Hanzo huffs out a single laugh at Jesse’s uniquely endearing brand of idiocy for thanking him. Never in all his travels has Hanzo heard of someone getting thanked for mutual affection. He doesn’t dwell on it, finding necessity to gently hustle the giddy cowboy out of his room because he doesn’t know what to do with either himself or the conversation now.

He mumbles something about not wanting to expose McCree anymore to his cold, and the man does not argue with him. He seems incapable of doing anything but beaming at Hanzo with every ounce of attractive radiance he has, which just makes Hanzo wonder if Jesse is as happy after every kiss and not just the first. Closing his door with promises of replying on his mobile to Jesse, Hanzo stands behind the door, hand still poised on the handle, with smile of his own; aware that his mind considered that their first kiss.

Where the words "first kiss" implies many more to come.

* * *

 

By the end of the week, Hanzo has recuperated sufficiently and visits the coffee shop at his usual time prior to catching the nasty cold. He’s greeted by a sniffling man in a cowboy hat, who is standing with a broom but by no means efficiently using it.

“I warned you, Jesse.”

The said man sneezes in response.

McCree leans on the broom, hip jutting out in a gesture of sass. The pose lets Hanzo see the full-sized bottle of hand sanitizer in his back pocket, and he chuckles to himself. His laughter must be as contagious as his cold, because Jesse glows and chuckles too.

“Oh, I would pay a much steeper price than this for the same reward, sugar.”

Hanzo bites his lip. He might hold him to such a bold statement.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to all the wonderful comments which were so helpful in pushing through a continuation of this fic!
> 
> I know this is somewhat short, however I have one more installment planned that touches on more flirty/sexual aspects. Depending on how that (currently unwritten) chapter progresses, the rating for this fic will elevate from General Audiences (likely to Mature/Explicit). If anyone has a concern with that, lemme know!
> 
> With one more chapter intended, I will be shifting this from a completed to an unfinished work.  
> Please continue to show support! :D

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to focus on the small actions/details and try to elaborate on Hanzo's natural thought process. New skills for me. 
> 
> I really craved coffee shop vibes, and hope I gave them justice. Also Polyglot Intellect Jesse is an absolute babe, fight me.
> 
> If it sounds like it ended weird, you're right. I intended to show the courting process, maybe going to shooting range, then ending with make-out session on the counter of the coffee shop after closing (and getting caught) but I have barely written beyond here. At this point, I'm not even sure people would care for that kind of progression. 
> 
> I tried new stuff, and I might continue this if I find the will. Please let me know what you think.
> 
> Thank you for reading until the end! :D


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